


A Visit from Santa Claus

by bladeandroses



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff Pure Fluff, I suck at titles, M/M, Never let Avengers decorate, Stan Lee is Santa Claus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeandroses/pseuds/bladeandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Lee is Santa Claus.  Tony Stark does not believe in Santa Claus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Visit from Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this posting. I was promoted at work and now I understand why my predecessor seemed to live at our offices. 
> 
> So. Santa works in maintenance. So does Stan Lee. 
> 
> For the five people out there who haven’t seen Spiderman – Stan Lee has increased his stature in the movie world from walk-ons and one-liners to a recurring role as the janitor in Peter Parker’s high school. And he moonlights as a janitor elsewhere – like with SHIELD. And if he’s moonlighting at SHIELD, why not at Avengers Tower too? I mean, how else to decide who’s naughty and nice than to actually, you know, watch them?

“No! _Nonononono!_ Absolutely not!”

Tony Stark desperately blocked the open main doors into the lobby of Avengers Tower, his right hand raised in his soon-to-be-patented ‘repulsor-blast’ stance. A ‘blast’ that was aimed squarely at the tip of a ten-foot tall fir tree, whose lower branches were (temporarily) stuck in the lobby doors. A small crowd of exiting employees and maintenance workers were gathered in the area, watching the impromptu show. 

“Tony!” Pepper protested from her place mid-way down the tree. 

“No, Pepper!” Tony cut in, his voice firm and a bit high-pitched. “I know where you think that thing is going and I’m telling you right now it’s not going where you think it is!”

“But . . .”

“That – thing – is NOT coming into our home.”

“This ‘thing’ is a Christmas tree and . . .”

“It’s a giant green biohazard, that’s what it is, Pepper. A giant green –“

“He’s not talking about me, is he?” a soft voice questioned from the back of the tree, hidden behind a barrier of branches, and Tony immediately looked contrite, while several people in the crowd giggled nervously. “Ah. Bruce? That you back there? Ah, no, you weren’t the green – ah . . .”

“Stop now, Tony, while you still have some dignity left,” Pepper advised. “And as for the tree . . .”

“Pepper,” Tony complained, “I’m already putting up with the giant frosted tree in the lobby. _And_ the fluorescent trees on every floor outside the elevators and in every department meeting room. I’ve spent the last three weeks listening to nonstop carols piped over the intercom and the impromptu songfests that have been breaking out in the hallways. Worst of all, I’ve had to unknot tinsel from every one of the Roombas at _least_ twice, and you know how bitchy they are about having their suction vents cleaned. I’ve done all this in the interests of being a caring boss who wants his employees to be happy. I do NOT have to put up with this crap in my own home.”

“OUR home, Tony,” Pepper retorted, shifting her grip as the tree suddenly began to slip forward from her arms.

It was promptly caught by Steve Rogers, as he came in a side door and made a bee-line for the tree. 

“Oh, a fir tree!” he exclaimed, practically cradling the tree in his arms. “I always wanted one of these, back then, but we could never afford --” 

“And now you have one,” Pepper cut in, looking straight at Tony. “Bruce and I had to go to five different lots to find probably the last remaining unsold fir in the city. _And isn’t it beautiful, Mr. Stark?_ ” she finished, smiling at Tony, mischief lighting up her face. 

It was one of the top three Pepper looks that Tony loved. Add in Cap’s puppy-dog happy eyes, and Tony just gave in with an internal sigh. “Yes it is, Miss Potts. Okay, the tree can come up – in the interests of team harmony -- but only on the condition that I don’t have to have anything to do with it.”

“Tony,” Cap said, a slight frown crossing his face.

“I don’t do Christmas,” Tony cut in, his voice and face stern. Pepper caught Steve’s eye, shaking her head slightly in warning.

“Right,” Cap acknowledged, sidestepping yet another minefield from Tony’s unhappy childhood. “Stark has nothing to do with this tree. Which,” he added, “is getting heavy and probably needs to be watered. Let’s move . . .” And he proceeded to single-handedly lift the tree up onto his shoulder and carried it toward the penthouse elevator, Pepper and Bruce trailing behind him to guide the larger branches. The crowd of employees dispersed to head out the doors toward their own homes for a well-deserved holiday break, while the on-call maintenance staff headed back into the lobby to finish their work. One of them, an elderly man in glasses, paused, looking back at Stark, who now had his head buried in his tablet. 

“Sonny, you’d better be careful,” he cautioned Stark, “Santa might hear you and decide you’re on the naughty list. Then you’ll get nothin’ but coal for Christmas.”

“I saved the world at least four times this year, so I think I’m getting more than coal,” Tony responded, absent-mindedly, as he adjusted something on the tablet. “And in case you didn’t know this, at your age – Santa’s a myth.”

“Riiight,” the man replied, pushing his cart toward the back hallway. “Like those Asgardians. Still, you never know when a myth might be listening. . .”

Stark just shook his head and headed for his lab. “Santa. Right.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Two hours later, having fine-tuned his repulsor gloves again, sketched out three ideas for new products and written an upgrade to the Starkphone operating system, Tony looked up and realized it was past ten, and no one had come to fetch him for dinner. Not that he was really that interested in dinner – his growling stomach protested just then – but really, Team Leader ought to have been down here an hour ago, if the last few months were any guide. 

“JARVIS?” he called. “Where’s our fearless leader? Did he forget about my dinner?”

“Unlikely, Sir,” JARVIS replied. “However, Captain Rogers would appear to have gotten sidetracked into assisting Miss Potts with a most important project.”

“There is _nothing_ more important than the care and feeding of Tony Stark,” Tony announced, shutting down the holographic display. Stepping back, he also stepped into Dummy. “Dummy,” he began, “How many times have I . . .” He sputtered to a stop as he got a good look at Dummy.

Red tinsel twisted around his arm, a Santa hat rubber-banded to his ‘head,’ and wearing a handwritten sign that said, ‘Dinner. Upstairs. Now.’ A candy=cane striped arrow pointed upwards at the top of the sign. 

Chirping happily, Dummy held out a mug filled with steaming, dark liquid. 

“NO!” Tony yelped, grabbing for the hat – and missing as Dummy backed away quickly, the mug held between them as a small barrier. “Dammit! I said –“

“I know what you said,” a voice called – for a disorienting second, Tony thought the table was talking to him, until he realized it was coming from the speakers usually reserved for JARVIS. “But I couldn’t resist. Seriously, man, Dummy is the _greatest_ ,” Dummy chirped at that, then spun in a circle, nearly knocking over a pile of wires on a nearby table with the mug – “and he deserves to partake of a little holiday cheer. And since he can’t drink my special chocolate-eggnog –“

“Chocolate. Eggnog. Gimme,” Tony demanded, and Dummy promptly began moving toward the doors. 

“Sorry, Tony,” Clint, the asshole, was smirking now, Tony could hear it in his voice. “But Pepper told Dummy to only give it to you if you left the lab, so – “

“Don’t even think about it, Tony,” Pepper yelled, and Tony aborted his attempt to distract Dummy into exchanging the mug for a fire extinguisher, focusing on his tablet which now showed Pepper, in a green elf hat, waving a box of pizza from his favorite Brooklyn palace in front of her. “Just walk out the door, and Dummy will hand you the mug.” 

Dummy, the traitor, took advantage of Tony’s focus on the screen to skitter out the door and into the hallway. Tony followed him and was rewarded with the mug of chocolate eggnog, which he practically inhaled – and then, turning around, he discovered that the door to the lab had been closed.

And locked, he realized, as the keypad blinked red and denied his attempts to re-enter the room. 

“I’m sorry Sir,” JARVIS announced, and Tony was positive that he sounded not one bit remorseful, “but Miss Potts has exercised her over-ride and barred you from the lab for the next twenty-four hours. And if you don’t mind a suggestion,” he stated, as Tony huffed and began stalking up the stairs, “I would advise a shower before joining the others in the lounge.”

Looking down at his grease-stained jeans, and noting the streaks of paint along his shirt, Tony just sighed and headed up toward the main suite.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“What the f-,” Tony yelped half an hour later, as he tripped over a tangle of garland and landed atop a heap of sofa cushions. “ _What have you people done to my home!_ ”

The main room of the penthouse, previously a magazine-perfect study in minimalism, now resembled a Christmas-TV-special set gone mad. The low, dark couch could not be seen underneath multiple layers of red, gold and green throw pillows and an enormous green and white throw that pictured Santa and his eight reindeer climbing through the night sky. The floor-to-ceiling windows were outlined in twinkling multi-colored lights twined with silver and gold garland; the trail of lights and garland led from the windows, along the walls and over Hawkeye’s various perches. More garland and lights twisted through the railings and along the banisters, and every surface held bowls of mercury-glass balls, villages of miniaturized snow-covered houses or glass plates of scented red and green candles.

Even Tony’s bar – his precious bar! – hadn’t escaped the insanity. Nine reindeer, Rudolph’s nose blinking red, pranced along pulling a red sled loaded with a giant bag of wrapped presents and a very-fat Santa Claus. A green-suited elf was precariously hanging off the back of the sled. 

The Giant Green Biohazard was positioned against the windows as the crowning touch, every inch covered in glass ornaments and putting out enough light to temporarily blind anyone stupid enough to look at it. 

“What have you people done to my home!” he yelled again, getting further into the room. “This is – this –“

“Is not this wonderful!” Thor boomed, and Tony winced as the volume actually caused a nearby ornament to crack. “A truly fitting way to celebrate this most important of days.”

“Indoor voice, Thor,” Steve said, an automatic caution by now. “But yeah, it’s great.” Smiling, he looked around the room, for once no trace of the ever=present, faint sadness in his eyes. “I love Christmas. Always have. And this – it’s like a kid’s dream come true.”

“It’s not a dre—“ Tony began, then stopped as Pepper snuggled up to him and kissed him quiet. “Tony,” Pepper whispered into his ear, “we’ve got a tree. And a bar-fireplace hung with stockings – yes, even one for you, Steve insisted. And everyone’s happy – I know it’s not a time of year you enjoy, but please, won’t you just – I don’t know – try, a little? For me?” she cajoled, and Tony, as usual these days, gave in when Pepper smiled at him that way. 

“Stark, man, don’t be a scrooge,” Clint advised from his place on the sofa arm, as he poured alcohol into a mug of his chocolate eggnog. “Santy Clause won’t come if you don’t believe.”

“Eat some pizza,” Natasha ordered, shoving a loaded plate in his hands. Seeing Pepper’s eyes begging him to behave, Tony surrendered to the inevitable and bit into a slice of pizza. 

Then spat it out into his hands and glared at the Widow. “Really? _Hawaiian!?!_ ”

Clint nearly fell off the sofa laughing as Natasha smirked and circled back to sit at the base of the tree, looking up at the lights, a slight smile in her eyes.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“So,” Tony began after hunting down and inhaling three pieces of meat-lovers’ pizza, “what’s everyone wanting for Christmas!”

“I have already received a most wonderful gift,” Thor thundered, slightly quieter than his normal boom. “A group of companions, a chance to prove my worth and protect those less able, and perhaps, someday, the return of my brother to my side.” Holding up a hand, he forestalled any comments. “Aye, I know. Loki has done grievous harm to this world. But he is my brother, and I had feared him dead for too long a time. Knowing that he lives, I have hope of one day regaining the brother of my youth, once he has time to ponder the consequences of his actions. That is enough of a gift for me, this season.” Downing his overly-large stein of spiked eggnog, he smiled at them. “But for you others, what would you ask for at this turning of the new year?”

“A day off,” Pepper and Steve chorused unintentionally, then smiled at one another. “You first,” Steve said, waving his mug toward Pepper.

“One day, Tony,” Pepper said, turning round and looking him square in the eyes. “One day without snark, explosions in the lab or your name plastered on the news. Can you do that for me?” she wheedled as the rest of the Avengers began calling out bets on the likelihood of Stark managing that. 

“Of course I can,” Tony said promptly, then winced as something popped behind him and a section of lights went out. “That was one of your excessive decorations, I am not responsible for that.”

“Snarking, Stark,” Clint got out, before Tasha elbowed him. “I’ll call maintenance – again,” he whimpered. Tasha had very sharp elbows – Tony was certain they should count as lethal weapons all on their own. Struggling to his feet, Clint pulled his phone out and hit 2.

“Wait, _you have maintenance on speed dial?_ ” Tony asked, incredulously. Bruce rolled his eyes as he explained, “After today’s decorating frenzy? Let’s just say that the poor man’s probably –“ and the squeak of a maintenance cart was heard in the foyer – “lurking in the hall waiting for the next call.”

An elderly man parked a cart bigger than him in the entryway, then wandered over to the dead set of lights. “Ah, blew some bulbs, I see.” Going back to the cart, he began rooting around in a drawer, before pulling out a package of replacement bulbs. Beginning to replace the broken lights, he asked Tony, “Still humbugging Christmas, Sonny?”

Tony recognized the man as the one he’d seen in the lobby. “Still believing in Santa, old-timer?” He shot back, then blinked as something occurred to him. “And since when does the Tower’s maintenance staff carry replacement bulbs for Christmas lights?” 

“Since accounting decided to see how many lights they could fit in their department without blowing the fuses,” the man replied, screwing in the last bulb and watching in satisfaction as the strand lit up again. “They haven’t needed to turn on the overheads for the last two weeks.”

Gathering up the remaining bulbs, he turned toward the entry, then paused to look at the bar’s display. “Why is it always a fat guy?” he muttered, before heading back out, pushing the squeaky cart before him. Thor, behind everyone, smiled slightly, then asked, “You also asked for a day off, Captain?” as he nudged Steve with his arm. Managing not to be knocked over, Steve took a sip of eggnog before answering. “Yes. Remember, for me, the war ended just a few months ago. And since then, I’ve either been training or fighting with SHIELD and the Avengers. It seems like it’s been years of battling, without a break. I’d like one day, just one – to do nothing but sit around and relax.” He snorted then. “Funny, when I was a kid, all I did was sit around – I wanted nothing but action. Now it’s the opposite.” He drained his mug and scrambled to his feet to get a refill. As he passed Natasha and Clint, he gently tapped Clint on the head and said, “What about you, Hawkeye?”

“A new bow,” everyone chorused, and Clint for once looked embarrassed. “Seriously, guys, I don’t always complain about needing a new bow, do I? Don’t answer that,” he said quickly. Then he looked down at his mug and muttered, “What I want isn’t likely to happen so – I’ll take a flyer and follow Cap,” he continued with forced cheerfulness. “One day of relaxing. After all, Cap? I’ve been at war a hell of a lot longer than you!”

Tony and the other Avengers were silent for moment, understanding Clint’s attempt at deflection – and remembering the one man who deserved to be here with them. Typically, it was Tony who spoke, raising his mug, “To Coulson. He really should be here.”

“Although, knowing Phil,” Pepper added, trying to lighten the sudden downturn to their mood, “He’d be filling out paperwork while simultaneously stealing the last snickerdoodle.”

“And moaning because there were no donuts on the table,” Natasha said, unexpectedly smiling. “Coulson always did like his donuts.”

“Powdered, not glazed,” Clint said softly, before going to the bar and, bypassing the punchbowl of eggnog, dumping a large quantity of brandy into his mug. Pepper, trying to move them back to the happy moods they’d been in earlier, leaned back to look at Bruce, sitting cross-legged on the sofa behind her and Tony. “What about you, Bruce? Any particular Christmas wish we can help you with?”

Bruce smiled, a bit sadly. “Seriously, Pepper? Tony’s already done so much for me, so’ve you. I’ve got a place to live, a lab in Candyland, and for once, I don’t actually have to worry about General Ross coming after me, thanks to Tony. And don’t deny it –“ he cut off Tony’s attempt to speak. “I _know_ you did something, Tony. No one’s seen or heard from Ross in months. It’s like he went completely off the planet.”

“Nah,” Clint said, “Just Antartica.” Looking up to catch Bruce’s incredulous stare, he blushed slightly and announced calmly, “Not just Tony. Fury, me, Nat?” Widow nodded in agreement, “And I heard Sitwell called in some favors from his days at CIA. Trust us, Bruce. Ross’ got enough heat on him that he’s probably melting the ice cap where he’s stationed.”

“And not McMurdo, either,” Tony added. “I believe my – friends – mentioned something about a one-man penguin-monitoring station.” He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

Banner was at a loss for words, and Thor, seeing his embarrassment, turned toward the tree. “And you, fair Widow? Have you some request for this season?”

Natasha shrugged slightly. “To see less of Doom, perhaps.” She paused, then, sensing that they expected something more, continued, “I’m fine with things as they are. I am Russian, from a time when Russia did not – celebrate – this holiday. It is not that important to me.” And she slipped to her feet, calling over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to get more cookies.”

“Grab some chocolate melts,” Clint called, “and then we’ll sing!”

“Yes!” Thor proclaimed. “Lofty tales of great deeds!”

“Oh, hell, no,” Tony complained, as Pepper leaned past him to grab her Starkphone and key up a carols playlist.

“Oh, hell, YES!” Steve said, then began dueting with Pepper on “Silver Bells” 

Tony just gulped more eggnog. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Natasha?” Bruce asked hesitantly, as he hovered just inside the door of the kitchen. The Widow was leaning on the counter, eyes closed, a sad look on her face. “Are you –,” and he stopped; it seemed strange to be asking someone like her if she was all right.

“I lied,” Natasha said, unexpectedly. Bruce raised his eyebrows and remained silent as she straightened up and turned to look at him. “I lied when I said it wasn’t important to me. This day. I lie about it. All the time.”

“Well, you are a spy,” Bruce responded, uncertain where she was heading. 

“Yes. _Made_ into a spy,” Natasha replied. For some reason, uncharacteristically, she found herself wanting to confide in someone. “I lied to Fury, to Clint, to Coulson. Although,” she added, “I think Phil knew, or at least suspected. I say I don’t remember – things – before the Re-, the place where I was trained.” She looked out the windows over the city. “I do remember some things – a Christmas morning when my Baba – my grandmother – showed me a great secret. I would have been two, maybe. But – I don’t know if it’s real. I can’t tell whether anything in my head is real – or a lie put there by them for a cover I don’t recall any more.” As Bruce hesitantly put his hand on her forearm, she murmured, “I would like to remember. To know that one thing from my past is real.”

Neither paid any attention to the elderly man wandering into the room until he announced, “’Scuse me, folks. Can I get in here? Mr. Stark’s a bit annoyed with all the needles that tree-thing is shedding everywhere. Wants me to sweep 'em all up.”

“Tree-thing,” Natasha responded, quirking an eyebrow and instantly assuming her ‘Widow’ professional mask. The man smiled, his eyes lighting up in his wrinkled face. “That’s what Mr. Stark called it.”

“The tree hasn’t even been in here,” Bruce observed, aiming an amused look at Natasha. 

“Mr. Stark doesn’t like disruption in his routine,” she responded.

“Mr. Stark, it seems to me, could do with some disruption,” the janitor muttered, fiddling with his equipment before pulling out a dustpan and brush. Kneeling, he began sweeping – something – into his pan.

Moving away, Natasha matched Bruce’s stride as they moved toward the door. “And you?” she half-whispered, “you never did tell Pepper what you wanted.”

Bruce hunched his head further, unconsciously imitating a turtle hiding in its shell. He didn’t say anything until they reached the door, but then whispered, so soft Natasha had to strain to hear him, “What I want – like Clint, I can’t have what I want. She’s moved on, vanished. Can’t be found.” With that, he tucked his hands into his pockets and scuttled away, turning the corner and heading towards his lab. Natasha watched him go, then wandered back toward the common room, where Clint had obviously imbibed a bit too much of his spiked chocolate eggnog and was now serenading Tony with a fairly good rendition of “The Grinch.” 

When she was out of sight, the elderly man climbed laboriously to his feet, put the brush and pan back on his cart and shook his head. “Well, it could be worse. He could have asked for world peace like last year.” He flinched as a loud pop sounded from the next room, followed by a crash.

“Hey, you!” Tony yelled. “Got a hammer? And more of those bulbs?” Appearing in the doorway, he pointed at the man, pouting a little. “See, this is why I don’t like Christmas. Muss. Mess. Accidents. Come help clean this up!”

Smiling, the man headed to handle the new mess created by Avenger-style decorating. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

An hour later, the man passed his parked cart by the elevator and stood looking around the lounge. The Avengers had finally headed off to bed, and the lights had all been turned off, except for those on the tree. Presents wrapped in glittery paper were heaped around its base. Dummy was standing next to the tree as a guard, his head angled toward one of the windows, which had been darkened and was currently running “Twas the Night Before Christmas” with the volume turned off. The floor was strewn with scattered bits of tinsel and glitter, the sofa table held a huge tray of assorted cookies and a stein of milk, and a snoring archer was draped over the sofa, one leg hanging onto the floor. Grinning, the man tiptoed over to the table, and grabbed a handful of cookies off the tray. As he tried to back out of the room, he bumped into Dummy, who chirped at him, and Clint jerked awake.

“Hey,” Clint said, voice husky with sleep, his eyes drooping closed again as he recognized the man, “Don’t eat those. Those are for Santa.”

“Exactly,” the man answered. He edged forward, pulled the throw up to Clint’s chin and then, snagging another handful, he headed out of the room. 

As Clint drowsed off, he thought he heard JARVIS’ voice whispering, “You want me to do what, sir?”

“JARVIS?” Clint muttered, “What does Tony wanted you to do now?”

“It’s not Sir, it’s – not important, Clint,” JARVIS’ tone was soft, gentle. “I suggest you get some sleep now.”

“Right, sleep,” Clint slurred, and promptly dropped off again. 

Hawkeye never noticed the streaks of brown and red that flew past the window a few minutes later.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

Christmas morning. Two words Tony usually hated.

Except today, when Pepper woke him up with coffee, kisses – and a plate of Clint’s homemade blueberry pancakes. He wolfed down the pancakes, drained the mug and trailed after Pepper toward the main room, where sounds of laughter could be heard. 

Entering the room, he was hit in the face with a wad of wrapping paper. “Hey, asshole,” and Clint sounded – angry. Which was worrying. “Where’d you get the idea to give me _this_!?!” And he held up a framed poster of The Amazing Hawkeye, trapeze, bow, purple spandex and all. Everyone in the room stilled. Clint did not, under any circumstances, allow anyone except Coulson to mention his background in the circus, a holdover from his early days with SHIELD when the other agents mocked him. 

“He didn’t,” as usual, Fury managed to make a menacing entrance, even when, for once, he wasn’t wearing his black trench coat. He waved toward the poster with his mug, decorated with Christmas elves. “That's from Coulson.”

Clint froze, his hands trembling slightly on the frame. “He used to joke about finding one of those,” Fury continued, “so when he did, in Arkansas of all places and _do not_ ask me about that clusterfuck of a mission, he decided to have it framed by the guy who does all his Captain America memorabilia. He wanted me to make sure you got it this morning, seeing as how he’s not allowed out of bed.” All the Avengers turned slowly to stare at Fury. “He woke up last night. And made me skip sleeping to fly at an ungodly hour to Cleveland and pick it up.”

Clint couldn’t speak, so Natasha asked for them all. “He’s –“

“Alive, barely, but getting there,” Fury responded – then held out a hand to stop Natasha’s approach. “He said to tell you,” and he looked a bit worried now, “that he’d take care of the ass-kicking once he’s back on his feet.”

“You asshole,” Tony said, holding a happy but crying Pepper, “you deserve more than just an ass-kicking for this.” Steve and Bruce nodded in agreement, Thor scowling behind them.

Fury – cringed. “You know Coulson, Stark. You _don’t_ know Cheese. That man’s gonna make me wish I’d been blown up by that nuke.” He drank down his coffee, then turned to leave. “Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, the doctors said you can visit in an hour. I’ll swing by with a car for you. And, Captain? So far, we’ve heard from Hydra, AIM, Doom and I don’t know how many others that they’re taking the day off. As a “gesture of their generosity,” to quote AIM. The Avengers are on stand-down.” He stalked out the door, ignoring the babble breaking out behind him.

For the next ten minutes, the Avengers talked at one another, cursing Fury, making plans to move Coulson into the Tower as soon as possible, and generally trying to ignore Clint shaking while he tried to get himself back under control. They didn’t stop talking until Bruce’s phone, the latest Starkphone prototype, began playing classical music. Frowning slightly, Bruce snatched it up and snapped, “Hello?”

Then it was his turn to freeze, as he listened to the caller. “Wait, one minute –“ and he lowered the phone, and reached out to hug a surprised Stark.

“Tony!” And he’d never seen Bruce so animated, his face lit up as he waved the phone in Tony’s face. “How did you – what – it’s Betty, Tony. She wants to see me – I – yes, I’m here, love, just let me get somewhere quieter.” 

“That was a nice thing to do, Tony,” Steve said softly, as Bruce, talking animatedly, wandered toward the kitchen for, presumably, some privacy. “I don’t know how you got her to call, but . . .”

“But I didn’t,” Tony said, confused. “Honest, Steve. I couldn’t even _find_ her. And that’s saying something. She was completely off grid.” He looked at Pepper and Steve, brow wrinkled. “Maybe Fury?!?”

At their side, Natasha frowned suddenly, looking suspiciously at the tool bag that had been left lying against the wall. She wandered over to it casually, sitting down next to it to examine the contents. 

“What are you up to today, Steve?” Pepper asked, sitting down between Tony and Steve. 

“I’m going to sit here, and do nothing,” Steve said, smiling. “Just – relax. Tony?”

“That –actually sounds good,” Tony began. “I did promise Pepper I’d try to behave today, so if I sit here, I shouldn’t end up the in papers. Although the do-nothing part . . .”

“No explosions,” Pepper reminded him, cuddling up to his side. “Maybe you could just – work on some formulas, or something quiet?”

“Or watch a movie,” Clint offered, passing, red-eyed, as he headed over to Natasha and the tree. “I don’t know, lots of movies maybe?” 

“With more of that eggnog,” Tony replied, “if I’m going to sit here, I deserve a chocolate reward.” 

Ignoring the discussion behind him, as the three weighed the merits of a Star Wars or Lord of the Rings marathon, Clint sat down next to Natasha, who had pulled a box from the tool bag and opened it. 

“Natasha?” Clint asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a doll,” Natasha responded, holding up the red-hued wooden figure she had removed from the box. As Clint watched, she opened the red doll to reveal a blue doll. 

“So?” A confused Clint asked. “Aren’t those common in Russia?” Natasha looked at him, and Clint was shocked to see that she was nearly in tears.

“ _I know this doll_ ,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little. “After the blue, there’s a green one, and then a purple one, and then in the center, there’s a little necklace with a charm. A little star. Nothing expensive, a cheap crystal but – I know this doll,” she repeated, opening the layers to reveal the trinket at the center. She gathered up the dolls and cradled them to her chest, her chin just touching the top of the outermost figure. “It’s my Baba’s doll. My grandmother’s. She’d opened it for me the last Christmas I spent with my family.” And she closed her eyes, smiling slightly. “I remember this doll.”

Uncomfortable around her unexpected emption, and wanting to spare her Stark’s inevitable comments if he noticed her behavior, Clint looked around the room for a distraction. “Hey!” he suddenly exclaimed, leaping up and heading for the giant windows. “It’s snowing!”

And it was – big, fat, silvery-hued flakes were raining down from a pale grey sky faintly glowing from the rising sun. 

“Thor, buddy, you didn’t have to –,” Tony said, putting his arm around Pepper and pulling her into his side. 

“But thanks,” Pepper added, leaning her head on Tony’s shoulder, as the rest of the team gathered around them to admire the site of New York being blanketed in glistening white. “It’s so beautiful. Just like the Christmases I remember.”

“But, I did not . . .” Thor began – and then paused. In the distance, beyond the lights of nearby buildings, outside the limits of even the archer’s sight, he could see a lavishly decorated red sleigh with a team of Bilge-snipe, and a familiar man, dressed in furs matching the sleigh and snow. As he watched, the man climbed into the sleigh, then turned slightly to wave at Thor as the team leaped into the sky. 

The Asgardian smiled back and turned to rejoin his team. They spent the day watching every Christmas movie and special JARVIS could find, Tony periodically insisting that there was no Santa Claus. Natasha kept count for the impromptu bet between Clint, Steve and Bruce. Occasionally one of them wandered outside onto the walkways to watch the snow blanket the city. 

As he’d wished, Steve spent the day on the sofa, drawing an eager Dummy, who posed with various Christmasy items held in his claw. Clint and Natasha returned from their visit to Coulson, Clint looking happier than the team had ever seen him, pictures on their phones of a loopy-on-painkillers Coulson wearing a Santa hat. 

Stark experienced his only break in good behavior when he stole the pictures off their phones and installed them as screen-savers on all their laptops, tablets and phones. 

By nightfall, everyone was stuffed full of food and chocolate eggnog and mildly sleepy. Bruce was celebrating winning the pool (Tony had scoffed at the existence of Santa Claus 193 times), when Thor, who had been looking out the window, turned to Stark and announced, “Tony! I am reminded that you have not yet checked your stocking for your last present from Santa Claus!”

Tony, who was behind the bar mixing an Irish coffee for Pepper, recited, “There is no Santa Claus, Thor,” by rote, then, leaning over, confirmed there was a lump at the bottom of his red-and-gold stocking. Reaching in, he pulled out a small, red-velvet bag.

As the team watched, he opened it, reached in, and then looked up to glare at then, “Hey! Who put coal in my stocking!?!”


End file.
